Read Online Heirs of Grace by Tim Pratt - Free Book Online

to be kissing, I might have chosen a different venue.”
    “Oh, I’m sure we can find a nice wall somewhere. Or a tree. I’m not picky.” We ambled, hand in hand, toward a little park, the kind of place where kids played by day and college students probably made out and got high in at night. We did indeed find a likely looking tree in a welcoming puddle of shadow. I put my back against the tree and pulled him close, and he was bigger than me, and it was nice. (I hate being loomed over, most of the time, but a little consensual looming is welcome now and then.)
    We made out, and his hands slid around my waist, and down my hips, and up my back, but he didn’t push much past that, which I appreciated—not so much because I have a moral objection to being fondled on a first date (indeed, I’ve had very satisfying sex on first and only dates), but because, like I said before—sometimes it’s nice to have something to look forward to. I am not entirely driven by anticipation, and I believe in the virtues of living in the moment as much as anyone, but it’s a simple truth that getting through a given day is a lot easier if you’re looking forward to what the next day might bring.
    With that in mind, I put a hand on his chest, and eased him back, and said, “I’ve got an early day sitting around counting my inheritance tomorrow, so I should head home.”
    “Yes. Home. Okay. Good.”
    “Keep up that level of scintillating conversation and you might get that second date after all.”
    He walked me back to my car, and I let him lean against the dirty door again (I really had to get that thing washed) to kiss for another minute or two, then swatted him and said, “Yes, yes, I’ll drive safe,” before he had a chance to tell me I should. I’d made the mistake of telling him I wasn’t used to twisty-ass winding roads and he was afraid I’d plunge to my drunken death on the way home. I told him he’d obviously never been drinking with me before. I’m not a large person, but when it comes to holding my liquor, I contain multitudes.
    I made it back to the house without any particular trouble, though the roads were as twisty and dark as expected. I was pretty sure the headlights behind me were Trey’s. Maybe he was making sure I didn’t die, which was either really sweet or kind of stalker-y. Time would tell. Or, alternately, this was the best way to go back to Boone, too, and he was just going home, without a thought for me in his head. Either way, the lights didn’t follow once I took the turn from the highway that led me back toward Meat Camp.
    Though when I got halfway down the driveway, I wished he had. There was a light on in one of the downstairs windows, in an addition on the west side, and I knew I hadn’t left a light on in there. I was vaguely terrified of the wiring in the parts of the house old Archibald had built himself, since I hadn’t exactly seen his certificate of accreditation from electrician college. I didn’t want to come back to a burned-down inheritance, so I’d decided not to leave anything beyond the lights in the main core of the house turned on—or even plugged in if I could help it—while I was gone.
    Now, I don’t need a man to save me, but I’ve seen enough horror movies to know better than to go into a creepy old house alone under circumstances like these. So I called Trey. “Hey. I’m inviting you over to my place, but not for sexytimes. I think there might be someone inside. There’s a light I’m pretty sure I didn’t leave on.”
    “I’ll be right there. Stay in your car, and keep the engine running in case anyone comes out. If it’s anything, it’s probably just local kids who heard the place was empty, looking for something to steal or just making a mess for fun, but be careful.”
    He wanted to stay on the line, but I told him I didn’t want to be responsible if he died while driving and talking, so he compromised by agreeing not to talk, if I’d leave the